All the World is Calm
by ScarlettKate1013
Summary: One-shot that takes place one year to the day of the events in the S2 finale. Tom is feeling very lonely, but there is more going on than he is aware. M for intimate situation midway through.


_**Author's Note – To begin with, I am not an author. I'm a banker. If you want to know mortgage rates or the best way to structure your accounts in order to take full advantage of FDIC coverage, then I'm your girl. What I am, in addition to a banker, is a wife and mother who stumbled across a show on Hulu of all places called_ The Last Ship. _I watched the first episode and convinced my husband to watch it with me. We were both hooked. We quite literally discovered the show's first season around the middle of July this year, and we've been watching like maniacs to get caught up. The finale of season 2 absolutely blew me away. And since it's only been one week, I really have no idea how I'm going to cope with the mother of all cliffhangers for an entire year._

 _I've been thinking about the finale all week and the dozen different ways that it could potentially play out, and a tiny little scene began to form in my mind's eye. I tried to ignore it because a story requires more than a simple scene. Generally, one must have a plot to go along with it. Quite honestly, there isn't one to be found here. It's just the musings of my imagination, and I finally got brave enough to pen it down and post it. There are so many wonderful authors and stories that I've encountered in this fandom, and while I know that there is absolutely no chance of anything like this happening on the show, it did happen in my mind, and well, I'm all right with that._

 _There is a bit of smut located midway, and I truly hope that you won't find it offensive. I've been told that I have no delicate feminine sensibilities, though, so my filter is probably broken. It's only that Tom and Rachel are both so singularly lovely and together, well, they're pretty hot._

 _The title of the story comes from the song "So Close," from the_ Enchanted _movie soundtrack. I love that song and find it very fitting for two people who are beginning to love one another but are so terrified of what all that will entail. This is, however, not a song fic. The line of the song just got stuck in my head along with everything else._

 _Anyway, this is my humble offering, and I welcome any and all feedback, including criticism. For the love of all that is holy, please tell me if it's crap so that I won't take the notion to churn out more. I mean that, people, truly. And if you've stuck with me through this rambling excuse of an author's note, all I can say is bless your heart, and I hope you enjoy reading this little tale as much as I enjoyed writing it – except for the summary. Good Lord, trying to write the summary was heinous! Thanks, Kate._

 **All the World is Calm**

Tom sighed heavily upon entering the darkened house. He'd stayed at his office located within the Old Courthouse until the moon had risen fully over the river, and the fledgling nightlife of St. Louis had begun to creep out onto the streets. Mentally telling himself to man up, he'd made the trek home knowing that only empty rooms would greet him. His family wouldn't be there tonight.

Both of his children were spending the night with friends.

His father was attending his monthly all-night poker game.

And his wife…well, she certainly wouldn't be there to greet him.

His father had stopped by Tom's office on the way to his poker game, tried to convince Tom to come along. "It'll be fun, Tommy, come on, whaddya say? We'll have a few beers, tell some stories and play a few hands of cards. I just don't like the idea of you alone in the house, brooding in the dark. I know what day it is, son," he had added almost reluctantly.

But Tom had turned down his father's invitation. "I know what day it is, too, Dad, but I'm not planning on 'brooding in the dark.' I'm just not going to be much company tonight, that's all."

The blatant concern on his father's face had pushed Tom to add, "You enjoy yourself tonight, don't worry about me. How about tomorrow, we take the kids to the park? It's supposed to be sunny, and Sam's been itching to throw the football."

Sensing he wasn't getting anywhere with his stubborn offspring, Jed had nodded and bid his son good evening.

Despite his promise to his father, once he reached the two-story English Tudor that had become his family's home in St. Louis, Tom decided that brooding in the dark suited his needs perfectly. He left his jacket and shoes by the door and crossed to the sideboard in his socked feet. Pouring himself a scotch by the light of the moon, he knocked it back quickly and chased it with a second. He made the third, a double – his personal limit – and started upstairs. He'd have a shower, finish his drink, and then, with any luck, fall asleep.

As he climbed the stairs, he found the silence in the house oppressive – so much so that Tom stopped and nearly turned around. He could still make it to his father's game. He could drop in at one of the neighborhood bars that had reopened. He could go back to his office and sleep on the couch there. Suddenly the thought of being alone in the house was suffocating, and Tom wasn't sure that he could do it.

Closing his eyes, he drew a ragged breath to center himself. He would be fine. It didn't matter what today represented. It didn't matter that one year ago today his world had been upended when he'd found Rachel, shot and crumpled in front of her hotel room door, the black lace of her borrowed dress drenched with her blood. It didn't matter that he'd fought like a man possessed when Rios and Milowsky had taken her from him. It didn't matter that it had taken the combined strength of Mike, Green and Burke to restrain him, to prevent him doing more harm than good. It didn't matter that both he and Tex had spent the night camped out in Rachel's lab onboard the _James_ , each of them trying to shore up the other over the woman who meant more to them both than either man had been ready to admit, each praying in their own way for a miracle.

None of that mattered because Rachel – brilliant, bolshie, brash, beautiful Rachel – had lived.

Rachel had recovered; Tom had quit "acting like a fool" (his father's frank analysis) and had confessed his feelings, feelings that he had gratefully learned Rachel shared. And wonder of wonders, Rachel had said yes when Tom had proposed. They'd married two weeks after his proposal, on the foredeck of the _James_ , neither of them willing to wait. What _did_ matter, what was driving Tom nearly out of his mind, was that even though a year had passed, he still couldn't let go of the fear that threatened at times to engulf him whenever Rachel was out of his sight.

Between recovering from the shooting and their hasty marriage, Rachel's plans to travel the country at President Michener's behest had been delayed indefinitely. But they always understood that at some point she'd have to start her mission, and six weeks ago, the time had finally come. Watching her pull away in a convoy of scientists and soldiers, two of which were Wolf and Burke, had left Tom facing the other side of deployment – that of the one left behind. Fear had taken root in his heart as he'd watched Rachel's jeep disappear into the distance that morning, and the fear had grown with each passing day. They'd spoken only a handful of times since she'd left – cell coverage was spotty at best and SAT phones were reserved for only the direst of circumstances. Three days ago they'd gotten about five minutes of hurried conversation before the connection had been dropped, and now, today of all days, the anniversary of the day that he'd nearly lost her, Tom had not been able to reach Rachel.

Tom was not a fool. He knew he was suffering from PTSD, had been ever since he'd learned of Darien's death, but no amount of therapy or counseling was going to help him. No, the only cure for it, for him, was to have Rachel _home_ – on the living room sofa with both kids curled around her as she read to them; laughing in the kitchen with his dad as they worked on simple recipes to fortify her less than stellar culinary skills; sleeping next to him in their bed, the early morning sunlight dappling her porcelain skin.

Shaking his head at his melancholy Tom squared his shoulders and marched up the remaining stairs to his bedroom, chiding himself for his depression. After all, he knew he was damn lucky, when all was said and done. Yes, he'd lost Darien to the virus, but even through his grief over her loss, he'd found love again with Rachel. His father was alive and well. His children were safe. Most of his crew hadn't been so fortunate.

Sitting on his side of the bed, his thoughts turned to his best friend. Mike's little boy had died from the virus while they'd been in the Artic, and even though he'd eventually been reunited with his wife and daughters, the reunion hadn't been a happy one. Christine had conceded to stay in St. Louis, but she wasn't willing to salvage the marriage. Mike's oldest girl, Julie, wouldn't have anything to do with her father, either. He did see his little girl, Carly, but Tom knew that Mike struggled every day, burdened by the losses he'd suffered.

So, yes, Tom knew that he had no right to throw himself a pity party, and Rachel would kick his ass if she could see his behavior. He was going to survive the night, just like he'd survived that god-awful night a year ago. He'd get through it, and tomorrow, like he'd promised his father, he'd take his kids to the park and spend the afternoon playing with them. Sometime over the next few days, he'd hear from Rachel, either by phone or email, and then some of the nightmarish fear he kept locked within his chest would shrink.

Depositing his drink on his nightstand he methodically removed his service khakis, discarding each piece into the hamper designated for the dry cleaners. Naked, he went into the bathroom and turned the water on in the shower. The hot water went a long way to easing the tension in his shoulders. He went through the motions of shampooing his hair and washing his body, choosing to remain under the soothing spray until the water ran cold.

With only a towel wrapped around his waist, Tom opened the bathroom door, not even certain why he'd closed it in the first place. _Not like anyone's gonna walk in on me_ , he thought ruefully. He snatched up his glass, draining the last of the _Glenfiddich_. Returning the glass to the nightstand, he turned down the bed, intent on sliding naked between the sheets and dreaming of Rachel.

The sound of a throat clearing sent him spinning on his heels, and a blinding smile transformed his face as he took in the sight before him. Rachel leaned against the door jam, head cocked to one side, a mischievous grin on her beautiful face.

"Hi, Sailor, want some company?"

"Rachel!" he exclaimed and then she was in his arms. He pressed his face into her hair, nuzzling down to her neck, where the scent of her skin washed over him in a soothing balm. "What are you doing here, sweetheart, not that I'm complaining?"

"I just…had to see you," she whispered before covering his mouth with hers. She licked at his lips, chasing the taste of the scotch from his tongue as it hungrily stroked at hers. "I missed you," she told him between kisses, pulling away momentarily so she could look into his eyes.

Tom kept her close, his arms snugged around her waist, eyes roving over her features, trying to determine what had caused her to desert her mission and come running home. "I missed you, too, Rach, but it's not like you could just hop a plane for a quick side trip back home. Are you all right?" He was beginning to think something terrible had happened.

Rachel sensed his panic and quickly nodded her head. "I promise, darling, I'm fine. But after we last spoke, I realized that I had to come home. Twelve weeks is far too long to be away from my family now." What Rachel didn't say was that the pain she'd heard in Tom's voice in their too-short conversation three days before had driven her to tears after the connection had been severed. Combined with what she'd learned earlier that same morning, Rachel had made up her mind on the spot that she was going home.

"I'd have been here yesterday, but it did take some persuasion to bring Jeff round to my way of thinking," she said and Tom laughed out loud. Only his little spitfire of a wife would dare call the President of the United States "Jeff" to his face, much less convince him to do things her way, and get away with it.

"And am I still going to have a job on Monday after your little chat with the President?" he joked.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Rachel dismissed such a ridiculous notion with a flick of her wrist. "He owes his presidency to you, and he knows it. It's high time we cashed in on a few favors. Now, where were we?"

Rachel pressed her mouth to the hollow of Tom's throat, ghosting her tongue across his Adam's apple, and though Tom knew well and good that there was more to Rachel's sudden appearance, he couldn't bring himself to investigate the matter further. Whatever it was, would keep until the morning. His mouth took hers in a searing kiss as her hands began an enthusiastic dance across his bare chest.

"Where is everyone?" she mumbled between kisses.

"Dad's at poker. The kids are having sleep-overs. There's no one here but us tonight." At the end of his explanation, his hand closed over her breast, thumb and finger plucking at the nipple. Rachel couldn't prevent the groan that rose up within her. They'd only had one night truly alone, and that had been their wedding night and the first time they'd fully loved one another. With the state of the world, a honeymoon had been out of the question, and neither of them had wanted to upset the delicate balance of the children's world with any type of prolonged separation from them both.

But now, tonight, they were alone again, and Rachel intended to take full advantage of the evening. From the manner in which Tom was furiously working at the buttons of her shirt, her husband was just as eager as she. But Rachel wasn't known for her patience so she grabbed hold of the towel at Tom's waist and, yanking it away, she dropped to her knees.

"Rach, baby," Tom muttered above her and pulled at her arms, but Rachel was having none of it. Bracing both hands on his powerful thighs, she delighted in watching the muscles twitch briefly at her touch. Her left hand remained on Tom's right thigh as her right took hold of his hardened length and guided him to her mouth. Her tongue swept across the broad head of his cock, savoring the heat and taste of him before fully engulfing his length. Alternating the pressure of her lips, tongue and teeth, she hummed around him when his hands wove their way into the strands of her hair. His caress was gentle, never trying to force her, content to let her set the pace and maintain control.

 _His_ control was rapidly failing him, and as he watched Rachel bob up and down, he tried to warn her. "Rach, please stop. If you don't stop, I'm going to come."

Whisky colored eyes cut to his own azure ones, and Rachel pulled slowly off him. "That's the idea, darling." Then, she bent to her task once more, and in only a few more seconds, Tom shattered, Rachel's name spilling forth in broken supplication from his lips. She hungrily swallowed everything he gave her before he summoned the strength to sweep her into his arms and onto the bed.

"You're entirely too good at that," he told her, licking at her swollen lips as he opened the last few buttons of her shirt.

"I couldn't help myself. There you were, standing like a god before me in only that damned towel. What more could I have done, than have my way with you?"

"Well, I'll just have to find some way to repay you." He bared her breasts by flicking open the clasp at the front of her bra and rubbed his face lightly across the fleshy mounds.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," she hissed in pleasure as he circled the nipple of her right breast with his index finger, drawing the rosy tip into a hardened peak that simply begged for his mouth. When his mouth closed over it, suckling deeply, Rachel moaned and lifted her upper body from the bed, trying to feed him more of her breast.

Tom lavished both of her breasts, plumping them in his hands and worshipping them with his mouth. He could happily spend hours doing just that, but the rough slide of her jeans against his groin reminded him that Rachel was severely overdressed. Not to mention, she had plenty of other delicious places for him to taste.

He moved down the bed to remove her boots and socks. At the same time, she lifted herself enough to cast off her shirt and bra. Tom pulled her jeans and panties off in one motion, and Rachel lay back on the bed, her legs spread in invitation. Tom covered her body with his and kissed her once, tenderly; reverently. "I love you."

Then he moved down her body, leaving wet, openmouthed kisses in his wake. He followed the lines of her luscious legs, fingers waltzing over the sensitive spaces at the backs of her knees before meandering up her taught thighs to the place where she desired him most. His fingers spread open her folds, slicking through the moisture he found there and painted her outer folds and hooded bud with the liquid gift of her body.

"Tom, love, please," she whimpered. "You're driving me mad."

His response was a wicked smirk as he threw her words back at her. "That's the idea, darling." When he lowered his head, Rachel cried out at the first swipe of his tongue. His fingers joined the onslaught, and Rachel's hips bucked off the bed, her fingers going to his hair to keep him in place. As if he'd stop now…going down on Rachel was one of his most favorite things to do.

Rachel felt her womb clench, her orgasm building. "Please, please, Tom, I need you inside me, now!" she begged.

"I am inside you, Rach," he wiggled his fingers in demonstration. "Come for me, Rachel, now!" His fingers curled against her walls as he sucked hard on her clit, literally pulling the climax from her body. "That's it, Rachel, that's my girl, you're so pretty when you come like this." He praised her and sucked her juices from his fingers.

In spite of the incredible orgasm her husband had just given her, Rachel was far from sated and taking advantage of Tom's momentarily relaxed state, she flipped him onto his back. He was hard as steel as her hand wrapped around him, and Rachel mounted him in one downward stroke.

"Jesus, Rachel!" Tom's fingers gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises, but Rachel didn't care. She rode him, a wild thing, lifting her body until only the head of his impressive length remained inside her before dropping down again to fully sheathe him inside her slickness. Her eyes met his and she nearly wept at the lust and love reflected back at her. His hands slid to the small of her back, lowering her enough so he could capture her mouth with his. The slight change in position did marvelous things to the angle of her motions, and her second orgasm burst forth, her inner walls rippling around Tom.

Tom clamped down on his own pleasure, using his iron will to keep from following her over the precipice. He wasn't through with her just yet. Even more quickly than she'd done, Tom flipped Rachel and thrust deeply inside her. Her legs raised high around his waist, titling the cradle of her hips, allowing him to penetrate her fully. Again and again, he rutted into her, trying to get as deep as possible. Rachel's nails raked across his broad shoulders, not caring that she was marking him. "Now, please, darling, please," she panted. "Please come with me. I need you, please!"

"Rachel!" he exclaimed, and then he let loose inside her, filling her with his essence as she climaxed around him. Careful not to crush his petite wife, Tom rolled to the side, pulling Rachel with him. The movement caused him to slip from her body, and Rachel shuddered at the loss of contact, burrowing into Tom's chest, trying to get as close as possible. They lay there, the quiet of the house no longer oppressive to Tom, now that Rachel was in his arms. He sketched nonsensical patterns over her bare back until, goose-fleshed at his touch, she shivered.

"Come on, baby, let's get under the covers." Tom moved out from underneath Rachel, helping her to stand. She swayed slightly, and Tom's strong arms went around her immediately.

"I'm just tired, that's all," she replied to his unspoken question. "It was a rather long helicopter ride, after all."

Tom's eyebrows crawled to his hairline. "Michener sent the helicopter for you?"

Rachel grinned and nodded. "I told you it took some persuasion on my part to convince him, but he eventually saw it my way and agreed that getting me home to you was in the best interests of everyone."

"There's more to this story," he said.

"Perhaps," she conceded. "But for now, I just want to settle in with my husband and sleep, and tomorrow, I want to go and get our children and spend the day together."

Tom's heart flipped whenever Rachel referred to Ashley and Sam as "their" children. "All right, baby, you win." He pressed a quick kiss against her mouth. "Now go get ready for bed," he instructed adding a playful swat to her backside that sent her scampering in to the bathroom. He arranged the bed for them both before joining her to make his own preparations. In only moments, they were back in bed and sleeping in one another's arms – the first peaceful night's sleep either of them had gotten in six weeks.

"Run, Sammy, run!" Tom called out across the park. Sam had caught the football from his father and was running at full tilt from his sister. Ashley's longer legs propelled her faster, and Sam spared a glance over his shoulder to determine her exact location. That was all that Rachel needed to swoop in and snatch the little boy off his feet. Ashley stopped running when her stepmother caught her brother and began cheering.

"Yes! Woohoo, the girls win!"

"Don't count on it, missy!" Tom bellowed, sweeping in and grabbing Rachel, sending them all to the ground. Ashley reached her family and wiggled her way into the human pileup. She pressed a kiss to Rachel's cheek before resting her head on her stepmother's shoulder.

"I'm _so_ glad you're home, Rachel!" she gushed. "I really missed you."

"I did, too, sweetheart, and I'm very happy to be home with you all again."

"Rachel?" Sam asked looking up at her from his space between Tom and Rachel. "Are you going to be home forever now or is it going to be like when Daddy used to leave on deployment?"

"Well, love, I don't really know, to be honest with you." She still had to talk to Tom about a rather important development, and she was going to rely heavily on his input to hash out a firm plan to present to Jeff within the next few days. "What I do know is that I won't be going anywhere any time soon, and if I do need to travel, then it will only be for a very short time, not like I was gone this time."

Sam beamed at her, a miniature version of his father's toothy grin and jumped up from the ground with the ease that only a child can manage. "Anyways, I'm glad you're back, Rachel. Dad's been really grumpy since you've been gone."

"Hey, I resent that remark," Tom protested, reaching out ruffle Sam's hair. Turning to Rachel, he said, "I was _not_ grumpy, Rach."

"Of course you weren't, my darling," she cooed to him in mock sympathy. "I'm certain that you were the soul of beneficence to all who crossed your path."

"Ouch, Daddy," Ashley giggled. "Rachel's so got you figured out."

Tom's gaze never left Rachel as he replied, "That she does, Ash; that she does."

Brother and sister each rolled their eyes good-naturedly, and Ashley hopped up to join her little brother. "Come on, Sammy. Let's give Dad and Rachel some time alone." Sam nodded sagely in agreement.

"Yep, they're making mushy eyes at each other."

"Trust me, Sammy," Tom said, laughing. "Someday you're going to be pretty happy to have a girl make mushy eyes at you."

Sam, appropriately horrified at the thought of such an occurrence began making exaggerated gagging sounds, which set everyone laughing at the little boy's antics.

"Don't wander off too far, all right?" Rachel cautioned.

"We won't," Ashley promised and pointed to the other side of the park where a group of children were gathering. "We're just going to join the soccer game."

Tom had risen to his feet and pulled Rachel with him, his arm automatically circling her waist. "Go on, you two turkeys, have fun. Rach and I'll catch up." He could see that there were some bleachers where they could watch with other parents. The kids took off running, and he and Rachel followed at a leisurely pace, arm in arm.

"You're a wonderful father, Tom."

"Eh, they make it easy," he shrugged off her praise.

"I was wondering," she said and stopped walking so that Tom was forced to turn and face her. "Well, I was wondering if you might enjoy the job once more." She didn't elaborate, waiting for Tom to catch up to her train of thought. It didn't take long at all.

"Rachel, are you saying what I think you are? Are you pregnant?"

She nodded slowly.

"That's why you came home early."

Rachel nodded again. "Once I learned I was pregnant, I just had to come home. I was going to tell you the other night, but we got cut off. So I had to tell Jeff, first, and once I did, he was much more akin to seeing things my way."

Tom wasn't really listening to what she was saying. Oh, he heard Jeff's name and something about a phone call, but as she spoke he found himself falling to his knees before her. He lowered his head against the flat surface of her abdomen. "A baby," he whispered. "We're having a baby."

"Yes, well, that is what I've been trying to tell you, Tom."

"We're having a baby," he repeated. His stood slowly to his feet and looked deeply into Rachel's eyes, his handsome features etched in wonder. "Sweetheart, I love you so much," he gushed and kissed her, hard, once on the mouth. Then he grabbed her in his arms, spinning her around and screaming at the top of his lungs, "We're having a baby!"

They were drawing quite the crowd, much to Rachel's chagrin, but then she saw the children running towards them, soccer game forgotten, smiles of pure joy on their little faces. Sam's arms went around Rachel's waist, and he hugged her as tightly as he could.

"There's really a baby in there?" he asked. "I'm going to be a big brother?"

Rachel nodded, not really trusting her voice to find its way around the rapidly forming lump of emotion in her throat. She'd been secretly worried that the children mightn't take the news so well so their initial happy reactions touched her deeply.

"Is the baby going to be a girl?" Ashley wanted to know. "It would be so much fun to have a little sister!"

"It's far too early to know that, sweetheart," Rachel told her. "But I promise that you'll be one of the first to know when we do find out."

"We have to go home and tell Grandpa," Sam said suddenly, but Rachel only shook her head, laughing a little.

"Actually, Grandpa already knows."

Tom looked perplexed and a little put out that his father had learned of this before him.

"You see," Rachel explained. "He caught me throwing up this morning in the bushes. I'd gone outside to get some fresh air while your dad was in the shower, and Grandpa came out onto the porch to have his morning coffee. He took one look at me and said, 'So that's why you came home early, huh?'" That made Tom chuckle since that had been pretty much his reaction.

"Grandpa promised to help keep my secret temporarily when I explained that I was going to tell you this afternoon. In fact, he promised to have a celebratory dinner ready when we get home. I believe he mentioned something about Grandma Chandler's chicken and dumplings," she finished with a smile.

"Let's go home, right now," Ashley insisted.

"You know what, sweetie? I think that's a great idea." Tom wrapped one arm around Ashley's shoulders and the other around Rachel's. Sam was nestled into Rachel's side, and together, the foursome began the walk back to their home. When they reached the house, Tom encouraged Rachel and the kids to go on inside and get washed up for dinner. "I'll be right in." Rachel, sensing that Tom just needed a moment to himself, gave him a loving smile and nudged the children inside.

Tom turned around and watched the sun going down over the river. He closed his eyes as a soft breeze fluttered around him. _Darien_ , he thought and said a quick prayer for his first wife. When they'd first been married and he'd been deployed, Darien had told him that when he really missed her, he should go out onto the deck and wait for a breeze to come by. She'd told him that the breeze would be her, sending her love to him. To this day, he still thought of her when a sudden breeze came up. He wasn't sure how much he bought into heaven and hell and all the religious rhetoric, but he did believe that if there was a heaven, then Darien was there, and he liked to think that she was still watching out for the kids and for him. He even believed that she was watching over Rachel, too, as strange as that might seem. Darien had been a loving, warm, caring woman, and Tom truly believed that she'd be pleased that he'd found love again with Rachel, a woman who loved Darien's kids like her own.

Barely twenty-four hours ago, Tom had stared at the sunset from his office window, feeling completely sorry for himself that he had to go home alone. Now, his children, father, wife and unborn baby were inside waiting on him to join them for dinner. How he'd gotten so lucky, so blessed, Tom had no idea. But as he stepped inside to join his family, Tom Chandler was an extremely thankful man.


End file.
